


Tattooed Knuckles

by lifeinskinnyjeans



Series: Inspiration [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Cute, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeinskinnyjeans/pseuds/lifeinskinnyjeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the accompaniment to Artist's Hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tattooed Knuckles

"Happy one year, baby," I murmured when I awoke, cuddling up to his side and kissing the base of his neck.  
  
He grinned sleepily. "You remembered."  
  
I kissed the base of his neck again. "Of course I did." I took my head out of the crook of his neck and looked up at him. "How could I ever forget anything about you? You're the best thing to ever happen to me."  
  
My love quickly leaned down to kiss me, taking my face in his hands. "I love you," he said, looking straight into my eyes.  
  
I smiled at him and said, "I love you, too."  
  
He kissed me again and then said, "Do you remember how we met?"  
  
I grinned. "Yeah, of course I do."  
  
~  
  
I woke up to silence and couldn't place what was wrong with the frail morning sunlight starting to stream through my curtains. That was, at least, until I realized that there was frail morning sunlight starting to stream through my curtains. I then bolted upright, swearing and waking up my dog that was asleep on the end of my bed. "Sorry, Lila," I murmured, leaning forward and scratching her head. I glanced over at my clock, which told me it was seven a.m. I swore again loudly and rocketed out of bed.  
  
I haphazardly pulled a pair of dark jeans and socks out of my dresser, and throwing on a white t-shirt from my closet. I shoved on my black Converse high-tops and tied them quickly. I then ran downstairs, grabbed a granola bar out of my pantry, and then ripped my keys off the door, locking the front door to my apartment before taking off through the park.  
  
I focused on the opening to the strip on the other side of the park that I could barely see through the thin morning fog. I sped through the quiet, dewy grass, and then saw a man sitting on a bench with a large messenger bag next to him.  
  
I skidded to a stop as he looked up at me, and called to him, "I didn't know anyone else was in the park this early."  
  
He smiled lightly and he inclined his head towards me. "Neither did I," he said.  
  
I smiled back at him, sort of shyly. I peeked up at him without actually looking up at him, to get a good look at him without him noticing. He was really cute. He had a smooth face, with no sharp lines, just gentle curves, except for his jawline; it was the sharpest line on his face.  
  
I watched him looking me over; his eyes were roaming quickly, probably looking at my numerous tattoos. My entire right arm, including my knuckles, were covered in a sleeve of tattoos, and there were more on my other arm, hips, neck, and on my left shin. Looking at the man's skin, I didn't think he had any tattoos, at least not any I could see, but I always convince clean people to get a tattoo.  
  
"What brings you here so early?" I called to him again, bringing my head up.  
  
He lifted what looked like a sketchpad off his lap and set it back down again, and then waggled a pencil in between his middle finger and thumb. "My pencil," he answered. He then gestured at the trees around us. "Well, the trees call my pencil, and my pencil calls me to pick it up and take it somewhere. Sometimes it's a piece of charcoal, but mostly it's a pencil."  
  
I laughed softly, looked down at my Converse, and then back up at the man. "An artist, then?" He nodded. "Hobbyist or professional?"  
  
"Kind of both."  
  
I raised an eyebrow, but then checked my watch and swore. "Shit. I'm sorry, but I'm late for work. Maybe we can have some coffee when I get off?"  
  
The man smiled. "Yeah, where do you work? I'll come by when you get off."  
  
I pointed in the direction I had been running. "The tattoo studio on the strip. If I don't get fired," I joked. "Oh, and I get off at four."  
  
"Okay," I heard the man say as I ran off into the strip. I checked my watch again as I turned down the street. "Fuck, I am so late."  
~  
I burst through the door, panting, and everyone's heads whipped to look at me. "I'm sorry I'm late! I forgot to set my alarm last night, and then I ran into a cute guy in the park," I blathered.  
  
A blond man, sitting next to his empty tattoo chair, chuckled, diffusing most of the tension in the room. Everyone began to resume their respective jobs, and I shut the door behind me. "Figures something shiny caught your eye on the way here, Iero," he said.  
  
"Shut up, Bob," I muttered, scowling.  
  
"Hey, don't talk that way to your teacher!" Bob joked. Then he beckoned to me. "Now get over here. I have an appointment coming in in ten minutes, and I want you to help me outline the tattoo."  
  
I grinned and scampered over to where Bob was sitting. "Really?"  
  
He chuckled again. "Yeah, now sit down, you flowering pansy."  
  
"You're such an asshole."  
  
"I'm already letting you work on clients; you should be kissing my fucking feet instead of insulting me," Bob said, taking a pen down from his ear.  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."  
  
Three-thirty rolled around and the last client walked in the door. "Just sit this one out, Iero. I just want you to watch me ink this guy."  
  
Bob only inked in the outline of the guy's tattoo before my shift ended. "I'll catch you later, dude."  
  
He looked up at me quickly while he changed his needles. "See you tomorrow, Iero. And try not to be late."  
  
I just groaned as I opened the door and felt the rush of the late summer evening chill. I immediately shut the door again, and turned to James, sitting at the reception desk. "James, you got my hoodie, man?" He reached a hand under the desk and threw my hoodie to me. "Thanks, man, see you tomorrow."  
  
I threw on the hoodie and stepped outside. I checked my watch; four o'clock sharp. I decided to wait for the cute artist, so I leaned against the red brick of the building and reached into the pockets of the hoodie, hoping to find a pack of cigarettes. I cheered silently when I found a full pack in the left pocket, and pulled one out. I always keep a lighter in every back pocket of every pair of jeans I own, so I lit up and took a long drag, relishing in the feeling of the smoke in my lungs.  
  
I had gotten about three-quarters of the way through my cigarette when I saw the cute artist from the park this morning. I was about to say something to him, but he opened his mouth first. "Yes, hi, I know I'm late, but I was just so engrossed in my drawing that I forgot to check the time."  
  
I just smiled at him and stubbed out my cigarette on the ground, blowing the last exhale in his face. The man scrunched his face a bit and I chuckled. "It's okay, dude, I understand, I get that way when I play my guitar."  
  
He went to run a hand through his hair, but stopped mid-stroke and dropped his hand back down to his side, swearing. "You just get your haircut or something?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
He blushed and chuckled softly. "Yeah, yesterday. I'm just not used to it yet."  
  
I pulled my hands further inside the sleeves of my hoodie. "Coffee?" I asked, pointing down the strip. The man nodded and we began walking. "So, what were you drawing that you forgot to check the time?"  
  
He smiled. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that."  
  
"Oh really? And why not?" I asked as we walked.  
  
"Because then I'd have to kill you," he answered cheekily.  
  
I giggled. "Okay then. What kinds of things do you usually draw?"  
  
"Mostly still-life drawings, but I have done a couple portraits."  
  
"And you just draw whatever catches your eye?"  
  
"Yeah, anything and everything I want."  
  
"That's awesome."  
  
He smiled at me as he opened the door to the coffee shop and held it for me. "So you're a tattoo artist?" he asked.  
  
"Apprentice," I answered, stepping up to the counter to order my usual apple spice latte. The boy behind the register asked if I wanted whipped cream, and I said yes. I paid and stood aside and waited for the man to order. As I waited, I realized how much of an asshole I was for not introducing myself when he found me outside the tattoo studio.  
  
My drink was offered to me across the counter, and I grinned, accepting it and holding it in between my two cold hands. I blew over the hole in the top of lid and waited for it to cool off enough for me to take a sip of it. I didn't wait long enough, obviously, because when I took my first sip, it scalded my mouth, and I swallowed quickly, sticking my tongue out to try and cool it down. The cute artist chuckled as he put his credit card away. "So, apprentice tattoo artist?"  
  
"Ow, dammit, why do I always do that?" I looked up at the man. "But yeah, I'm not fully trained yet."  
  
He accepted his drink from over the counter and blew over the top. "Shall we sit?" he asked.  
  
I nodded and turned around, leading the man to a booth across from the pick-up counter. I set my drink down, and stuck my hand out when the man sat down. "I'm an asshole for introducing myself earlier. I'm Frank Iero."  
  
He smiled, set his drink down, and shook my hand. "Gerard Way."  
  
"Nice to finally meet you," I said, withdrawing my hand.  
  
"Likewise," Gerard said, sipping his drink.  
~  
It was two hours and another round of coffees later that Gerard's phone rang. He checked the ID and held up a finger. "Excuse me for a second. Hello?"  
  
"Hi, Mikes. What's up?" If he was calling someone by that familiar of a name, it was either a relative or a significant other. I was secretly hoping for the former.  
  
His eyebrows started to come together. "What is it?"  
  
He sighed at what the guy on the other line said and dropped his head into his other hand. "Mikey."  
  
I assumed the guy on the other line made a plea of some sort, because Gerard then said, "You're my brother, Mikey, I could never hate you." I secretly cheered on the inside.  
  
He closed his eyes. "How bad is it?" I then sensed the seriousness of the situation and sat back a little bit.  
  
Gerard sighed again. "Well, clean up and I'll be over there in a little bit," he said, rubbing his forehead.  
  
I could sense he was kind of stressed out about this seemingly unfortunate turn of events, because I sensed by the tone of his voice that something like this had happened before. "Just try to stay away from sharp things. Just watch TV, or something."  
  
"Bye," Gerard said tightly. He hung up his phone and put it down on the table, then rubbed his eyes, sighing again.  
  
"Everything okay?" I asked timidly.  
  
Gerard looked up at me, then took his face out of his hands. "It's my brother. He's had some trouble with depression in the past, and he's relapsing. I have to go and take care of him," he explained.  
  
"Oh," I said simply. "Well here." I pulled a Sharpie marker out of my pocket and motioned for Gerard to give me his hand. He did so, and I scribbled down my name and phone number. "Call or text sometime. I'd love to get to know you better."  
  
He smiled weakly and said, "Yeah, that'd be nice."  
  
"I hope everything is okay with your brother."  
  
"Thanks. I hope so, too."  
  
~  
  
"I remember it all really well," Gerard said, running his finger through my hair.  
  
I smiled up at him and inched up his side until I could easily kiss him. "And it's been one of the best years of my life," I said.  
  
"One of?" Gerard questioned.  
  
"Who says the next years won't be better?"  
  
"Aw, Frankie!" Gerard took my face in his hands and kissed me sweetly. "You're so adorable, I love you so much."  
  
"I love you too, Gee," I said, kissing him again.  
  
"Oh!" Gerard exclaimed. "I almost forgot your present!"  
  
I blushed. "Gee...you didn't have to."  
  
Running a hand through his shaggy blonde bedhead, he stood by our closet, looking for something. I have no idea what he was looking for, but the only thing Gerard kept in the closet besides clothes and shoes was his used sketchbooks. "Ah!" I heard him breathe, assuming he found what he had been looking for. He pulled something down off of a shelf and walked back over to the bed.  
  
"One of your sketchpads?" I asked as Gerard sat down next to me. He just nodded and started flipping through the pages.  
  
I alternated my gaze between Gerard's face and the pages of his sketchbook. I saw him smile and heard the pages stop flipping. "Here," he said, sliding the sketchbook over to me.  
  
"Footprints?" I asked again, looking over at Gerard.  
  
He continued to smile. "Yours," he said.  
  
"Mine?"  
  
"From the day we met in the park."  
  
My eyes began to well up with tears. "Gee..."  
  
He took the sketchpad back and tore out the page, perforating the ragged edge and tearing it off. He handed it to me, and I started to cry.  
  
I wiped my face on the back of my hand and looked down at the picture with a sniffle. "Thank you so much, Gee," I said, barely above a whisper. I lowered the drawing into my lap and looked up at Gerard with a huge smile on my face, fresh waves of tears rolling my cheeks. "I feel even worse that I didn't get you anything," I said, louder now.  
  
Gerard smiled for the millionth time at me and leaned forward to plant a kiss on my forehead. "It's okay. Seeing your reaction was enough of a present for me."  
  
I just set aside the drawing and tackled Gerard in a huge hug, making him laugh and squeeze me tightly as I buried my face in his shoulder and cried many happy tears.


End file.
